


Ocean's Two

by writeratheart007301



Series: The S.H.I.E.L.D. Files [3]
Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/F, Mission Fic, Post-Mission, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:35:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26392012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeratheart007301/pseuds/writeratheart007301
Summary: “Romanoff, you planning to make an appearance any time soon?”“It’s called being fashionably late, Hill. Emphasis on thefashionable.”“Right. Remind me again, why am I on this op, instead of Barton?”“Come on, Agent. It isn’t every day that I get to seetheHard-ass Hill in a pretty pantsuit.”
Relationships: Maria Hill/Natasha Romanov
Series: The S.H.I.E.L.D. Files [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1896979
Comments: 11
Kudos: 160





	1. The Flaming Sea

**Author's Note:**

> I keep having these ideas and then I just have to pen them down. 
> 
> The drill is the same as before: events of this story are entirely independent of the earlier story, "The Puzzle of You" and this one can be read as a standalone too. 
> 
> Apologies for any typos/grammatical errors. Enjoy the story and stay safe!

#### The Soldier

Maria tugged at the silk tie over her collar, making sure the knot was crisp while she absently twirled the dice stick in her hand.

_Why do casino uniforms have to be so damn formal?_

Then again, it made sense, considering the kind of crowd – rich, snobby, and pretentious, at times – that flocked to these places.

Maria checked her watch and she realised that the peak hours – the time right after dinner – were about to begin. As if on cue, a large horde of people waltzed in through the entrance of the casino, and the crew members around Maria promptly began scurrying away to their designated spots.

Maria followed suit as well and walked up to her “assigned” position – the craps table, which was right by one of the walls of the casino – and plastered a cordial, _hi-I’ll-be-your-dealer-tonight_ smile on her lips.

Their op was about to start soon, and Maria gingerly checked the gun she’d stuffed in her boot. She then adjusted the earpiece in her ear, tucking the curled wire into her collar. The device was like the ones that the actual employees were using (to communicate with the casino’s office), so she didn’t have to be discreet about it.

_One less thing to fuss about._

The crowd was already growing, and Maria’s eyes swept around in search of a redheaded Russian. _Not_ so surprisingly at all, Romanoff was nowhere to be found, and Maria blew out a low sigh.

_Of course, why would she be on time._

“Romanoff,” Maria spoke into her earpiece, her voice clipped but her expression casual, “You planning to make an appearance any time soon?”

Maria heard the rustle of fabric at the other end before the woman responded, “It’s called being fashionably late, Hill,” Romanoff all but purred, “Emphasis on the _fashionable_.”

“ _Right,"_ Maria huffed, before smiling towards the group of people approaching the craps table, “Remind me again, why am I on this op, instead of Barton?”

“Barton wasn’t free,” Romanoff replied, “Said something about being busy with another ‘life-changing’ mission.”

“What’s this mission because of which I’ve got to be _here?”_ Maria muttered, “On a boat in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea?”

“Okay, firstly, it’s a _cruise ship,_ ” Romanoff retorted, “And come on, Agent, the coast of Monte Carlo is hardly a view you’d want to miss.”

And before Maria could scoff, the woman added, “And I have no idea what Barton’s up to. Apparently, only Fury knows about it.”

Maria had to remind herself to not show her surprise as she moved the dice around on the table for the players.

Not that she minded being on this mission, though. Undercover ops weren’t really Maria’s thing, but they were fun, once in a while. Especially with Romanoff.

“Besides,” the Russian was still speaking, “It isn’t every day that I get to see _the_ Hard-ass Hill in a pretty pantsuit.”

And this time, Maria _did_ scoff, her hand reaching up to dust the imaginary lint off the vest she was wearing over her shirt.

_Yeah. Definitely fun._

Romanoff stayed quiet for a while, probably as she made her way to the casino, and Maria shifted her focus back to the craps table, handling the bets as the rounds continued to progress. She kept scanning the crowd – for both Romanoff and their target – as she shuffled around the table.

Their mission was rather standard; they were supposed to intercept a hand-off and secure the package: a bunch of important documents.

S.H.I.E.L.D. knew who the selling party was, and Maria was pretty sure that they were going to send a middleman as a representative. But the buyer was still unknown. So, obviously, they could only move in _after_ the deal was struck, since they needed to find out who was so interested in the papers.

Hence, the wait. The insufferable wait.

* * *

A good 5 minutes had passed before Maria’s earpiece buzzed to life again.

“Hey there, hot stuff.”

Romanoff’s voice was breathy – and _sultry,_ if Maria didn’t know better – and Maria felt her throat going dry. She turned her head to glance at the entrance of the casino. And to glare at the redhead who Maria knew was going to be there, with that impish smirk on her lips.

But Romanoff wasn’t looking at her.

The redhead was at the concierge counter, her eyes fixed on the pile of casino chips that she’d exchanged for cash, and Maria realised that the comment wasn’t intended for her.

And she smiled breathlessly at the little trick the woman had pulled.

Right then, Romanoff tilted her head just a bit, her gaze finding Maria, and winked.

And Maria instantly looked away, hiding her grin.

Beside her, a player motioned for the dice, and Maria promptly went back to her “job.” In her peripheral vision, she could see Romanoff sauntering towards the bar, and Maria couldn’t even help it when she sucked in an audible breath.

The woman was inherently gorgeous, but right now, she looked stunning enough to kill. Literally. The cocktail dress she was wearing hugged her curves perfectly – _sinfully –_ and the navy-blue colour looked exquisite with her flaming red hair.

And despite the faint lighting in this part of the casino, the redhead was all but _glowing._ Like an angel. An angel of de–

“Stop staring, Hill,” Romanoff whispered over their comms.

The Russian wasn’t facing her, and Maria couldn’t be more grateful for that. Because she’d just barely suppressed her shudder.

“I know the outfit could knock people dead,” the redhead added, the smile obvious in her voice, “But _you_ aren’t my target tonight.”

And Maria was speaking before she even knew it, “You don’t need a classy dress to look beautiful, Romanoff.”

“ _Anyway_ ,” Maria added quickly, gathering herself after the unplanned confession, “The seller should be here soon. We’re looking for a guy with a grey-coloured briefcase.”

“Yeah, you don’t need to remind me,” Romanoff responded, her tone teasing, “I _do_ read the long, wordy – and boring – files you give us during the mission briefings.”

Maria rolled her eyes even though the redhead couldn’t see it, “Do you even need _me_ for this op _?_ ”

“Sure, I do,” Romanoff instantly replied, “There’s no one else at S.H.I.E.L.D. who can count cards better than you.”

“That’s only helpful if the man chooses to play Blackjack,” Maria said, only a little surprised that the spy had managed to learn her little secret.

“Oh, trust me, he will,” Romanoff said, her voice low and almost wicked, “I’ll _make_ him.”

Maria immediately got what she meant. Because their guy – the seller with said briefcase – had just walked in through the entrance, his eyes flitting around for a few seconds and then stopping on Romanoff.

And Maria smirked to herself. The redhead wasn’t really doing anything; she was just sitting by the bar, sipping her vodka. And yet, she stood out in the whole room, despite the other loud, jazzily clad patrons. It was impossible to _not_ notice her.

The redhead gave the man one of her classic Romanoff-smiles, and just like that, he was ensnared. He walked up to the Russian and two promptly began chatting. And Maria was amazed at the spy’s efficiency.

Just a few minutes later, Romanoff and the seller started making their way to the Blackjack table – thankfully, it was right beside the craps table – and Maria could finally see the man properly. And she had to do a double take as she saw the face.

Because the guy was no middleman. He was _the_ seller: Vittorio Iannucci, head of the Italian mafia family.

Romanoff flashed her a brief look of warning as they got closer, and Maria promptly schooled her features. The new development had thrown her for a loop, though; she couldn’t fathom why Iannucci would come himself. But Maria let it slide, knowing that there wasn’t anything she could do about it.

Romanoff led Iannucci to their seats, and the man’s arm curled around the redhead as he took her into his lap. They were in the perfect position for Maria to see their cards, and she prepared herself for the next phase of the op.

Her job was to feed Romanoff the moves to make sure that they kept winning. It would keep Iannucci (and the buyer, later on) interested and _distracted_ enough for Maria to eventually snag the briefcase that he’d kept beside his chair.

The bets soon began, and Maria immediately got busy multi-tasking between the craps table and the Blackjack rounds.

The casino around them was bustling with people, and she didn’t even have to keep her voice low as she spoke into her earpiece.

* * *

The buyer arrived a full 24 minutes later.

And they _knew_ he was the buyer, because the guy – all suave and dapper in his Prada three-piece – walked straight up to the Blackjack table, sat right beside Romanoff, and gave Iannucci a conspicuous nod.

Maria didn’t recognise the man, and from the redhead’s expression, she knew that Romanoff didn’t either.

_So, Prada-guy it is, I guess._

Maria noticed that the man had arrived empty handed, save for the tray of casino chips, and she got thinking.

_What if the deal isn’t going to take place here?_

Iannucci seemed to have similar doubts, and he cocked up an eyebrow in question. The buyer immediately narrowed his eyes a bit before straightening up and smirking back.

And Maria understood the exchange: _show me the package, and the money will arrive soon._

Iannucci promptly lifted the briefcase and waved it in the air, and Prada-guy smiled in response, bringing his mobile to his ear and snapping instructions into it. The men shifted their focus back to the game, and Maria nearly groaned at the additional delay.

_Why is this taking so long? Why would he not bring the cash with him? Why is he so insecure, when he knows that weapons are not even allowed at the casino? And who the hell is he?_

Maria realised she wasn’t concentrating when she heard a growl of frustration from the Blackjack table. She figured Iannucci must have lost that round, and Maria cursed herself for not paying attention.

The man huffed angrily and tightened his arm around Romanoff. His fingers were digging into the redhead’s waist, and Maria felt rage course through her, like molten fire. Iannucci maintained his painful grip and Romanoff flinched just slightly, the hiss audible over the din of chatter.

And Maria clenched her own hand over the dice stick she was holding, her restraint hanging by a flimsy thread.

“Stand down, soldier,” Romanoff whispered, her voice ringing in Maria’s earpiece but her eyes fixed on Iannucci, “It’s just a bet. We’ll win again later.”

Maria knew the redhead wasn’t talking to her. And yet, she couldn’t help but wonder if the words were intended to calm her as well. As if to clarify, Romanoff turned a bit, looking towards Maria for just a second, and shot her a small, reassuring smile.

Maria was about to let herself relax when her eye caught a movement at the entrance of the casino.

A group of men – all of them dressed impeccably in black suits – stood beside the concierge desk, their gaze zeroing in on the Blackjack table.

Maria’s eyes widened as one of them reached into his coat, and she instantly knew what was going to happen next.

She quickly bent down to retrieve her own gun from her boot, _“Romanoff, duck!”_

And the chaos took over in mere milliseconds.

* * *

The men began shooting at them – at _Iannucci_ – and Maria found herself pushing over the craps table in front of her and to block the gunfire.

She shifted the table such that she was shielded by it in the front and by the wall at the back, forming a fort of some sorts.

The bullets were flying in _both_ directions – which meant Iannucci and _his_ men where firing as well – and Maria finally realised what this was.

_The deal was just a cover. This is a full-fledged gang war._

And they were caught right in the middle of it.

The people in the casino were already scampering to get to safety and Maria cursed under her breath at the sheer _mayhem_ ensuing around her.

_Fucking hell. This was supposed to be a passive mission. We don’t even have any backup._

She peeked over the table, angling herself as she raised her arm and began firing back. The casino’s lighting was dim ( _ambient_ , otherwise) and Maria had to squint her eyes to locate the shooters. A lot more had joined the fight and Maria had to sweep her hand around to cover the expanse of the gunmen.

In her peripheral vision, she saw Iannucci hand the briefcase to one of his minions, who then immediately bolted out through the side exit.

But before Maria could turn her head in the direction, she saw a group of civilians a few feet in front of her table, cowering down – right in the open – and her focus instantly returned.

Maria leaped over her cover spot, firing her gun simultaneously. She quickly shuffled the people behind the table – behind _her –_ and resumed her earlier stance, her armed hand raised just a little over the edge of the table.

Her eyes then darted around for Romanoff, but she couldn’t find the redhead.

_Goddammit, she was right beside me._

“Romanoff!” Maria spoke into her earpiece, “Romanoff, come in.”

She heard the panting at the other end, and she spoke again, “Iannucci’s passed the package to –”

“Yeah, I saw that,” Romanoff’s voice cut her off, “I’m on it.”

And almost immediately, Maria saw a flash of red appear somewhere on her right, and she could make out Romanoff following the guy she had seen run off with the briefcase. Maria promptly shifted her attention back to the gunfight; firing slowly and surely.

But she knew she was going to run out of ammo, and the bullets whizzing in the air didn’t seem to be ceasing any time soon. Maria growled to herself as she slumped against the table, her mind reeling at the sudden developments.

The movement made her eyes land on the group of civilians that she’d pushed behind her, and Maria felt her frustration multiply. The people looked utterly terrified as they backed themselves against the wall, all of them trembling and staring at her with wide, frightened eyes.

The deafening shots were still going on, and Maria realised that there was no way she could _fight_ her way out of this. The only option was to run. To escape.

Maria scooted towards the civilians, flashing them a small smile. She knew she had to keep them calm; a single move out of panic, and they’d all end up with a bullet in their heads. She swept her gaze around, and her eyes fell on the back door, some yards away from them, on their left.

Maria turned back towards the people, “We’re going to get you out, okay?” she said, willing her voice to stay gentle, “Here’s what you’re going to do.”

“You see that door there?” Maria said, pointing in the direction, “When I give you the signal, you’re going to crawl over to it as fast as you can, and move out.”

Maria waited for each of them to nod at her, making sure they’d all understood the instruction, and then spoke again, “Once you’re out, find the nearest room with the ‘Authorised Personnel Only’ sign, and get inside it. Use my employee code to enter: 707-HM.”

The civilians nodded wordlessly, and Maria continued, “There should be an intercom in the room, and you can directly contact the cruise’s security office, and they should come and get you.”

The people bobbed they’re heads yet again, and Maria gave them another encouraging smile. She scanned the room to find the next cover spot for herself. There was an overturned table several feet away, and Maria quickly checked the clip of her gun, getting ready for the dash.

Maria got herself into a crouched position, her calf muscles pulsating with energy, and glanced towards the civilians. Her gun was trained in front of her, and she raised her other hand, indicating the countdown with her fingers.

_Three. Two. One._

_“Now!”_

Maria gave the command just as she sprinted out into the open, firing her gun in the arbitrary direction of the bullets. From the corner of her eye, she could see the civilians scuttling the opposite way, towards the door. There weren’t any shots being fired towards them, and Maria’s worry marginally decreased.

The next cover spot was still a few yards away and Maria ran faster than ever. She felt a bullet nick her neck, but she didn’t slow down as she raced towards the table and dove to get herself behind it, her heart thundering against her ribcage as she steadied her breath.

Scanning the surroundings, Maria could see several commoners still in the casino, all of them scrambling to get behind tables or machines, and she bit back a string of profanities. She followed the earlier routine: getting to the civilians, relaying the same orders, and providing them cover-fire while they scurried out of the casino.

It worked – by some insane stroke of luck – and Maria managed to get the people out by the time she was left with just one clip of bullets. She could see one of the employee-only exits of the casino from her latest cover spot, and Maria let herself relax just a bit.

All she had to do now was make yet another mad dash for the door, and she’d be out of the casino. And the gunfight.

_Pretty fucking simple._

She checked the magazine one last time as she took a deep breath, praying like hell that she’d make it out.

And then, Maria ran.

* * *

She did make it out.

Maria _somehow_ made it out, dodging and rolling out of the way of the bullets. There was also a fair amount of jumping over chairs and tables, and the never-ending gunfire only managed to graze her left calf.

Maria kept her gun ready in her hand as she hobbled along the hallway outside the casino, blinking rapidly at the sudden burst of light. It was silent and calm here, and Maria guessed that the fight was still restricted to the casino. Her earpiece was with her – a true miracle, if she’d ever seen one – and she adjusted it to hear better.

“Romanoff,” Maria spoke into it, “Have you secured the payload?”

She didn’t receive an answer for the longest time, and Maria balled her free hand into a fist, dread instantly filling her. And just before it could snowball into full-blown panic, the comms crackled to life.

“Hill,” Romanoff responded, “I have the documents.”

But the Russian’s voice was low and strained, and Maria increased her pace as much as her injured leg allowed while she made her way across the ship’s corridors.

“Where are you right now?” Maria asked, her voice clipped, “Are you injured?”

“I’m… I was out on the deck, by the pool,” Romanoff replied, “I’m moving inside now.”

“Okay,” Maria muttered, “I’m on my way.”

Weaving through the aisles, Maria soon found herself out at the mezzanine, lounges and clubs surrounding her. She made a beeline for the staircase, ignoring the ache in her leg as she hurried to get to the top deck.

* * *

Maria soon reached up there and found the usually crowded open-air promenade empty right now.

Her head whipped around in search of Romanoff, her bangs fluttering in the cool night-breeze. And she’d passed the solarium when she finally spotted the redhead.

Romanoff was walking towards her, her right hand clutching a bunch of papers. The woman’s gait was slow and shaky, her left arm tucked close to her body, and Maria broke into a jog. As she got closer, she could see the bloodstain on Romanoff’s midsection, and she growled under her breath.

Maria pried the redhead’s hand away the moment she reached her, steeling herself to see the wound she knew Romanoff would have. But the woman’s dress was completely intact; no tear on it. Maria then shifted her gaze to Romanoff’s arm, and she saw it.

The redhead’s hand had a long gash, extending from the wrist almost till her elbow. The cut didn’t seem to have hit an artery, but the woman was still losing blood fast.

“Take these,” Romanoff muttered, thrusting the documents towards her, “I don’t want to get the blood all over them.”

Maria took the papers and checked them. Satisfied that they were the original documents, she folded them neatly and tucked them into one of the pockets of her pants. And before Maria could do anything else, they heard loud splashes of water beside them.

She and Romanoff shuffled to the railing of the deck and peered over at the sea. They saw several motorised lifeboats – the ones usually suspended on the side of the cruise liner – speeding away from the ship, and the redhead let out an amused scoff.

“Idiots,” Romanoff remarked, “Must be thinking that the man fled with the package.”

Maria turned to look at her, “And why would they think so?”

“That’s simple, Hill. I pushed him over into the water,” the redhead replied, a dopey grin on her lips, “And then tossed the briefcase right after him.”

Maria had more or less deduced that, but it was still weirdly satisfying hearing it from the spy. Romanoff must have guessed that the briefcase had a tracker on it, and so she’d taken only the papers.

Maria watched the sea once again as the boats raced further away, figuring that the redhead had just set off the wild goose chase, and she grinned to herself.

_Damned smartass._

But then Maria looked back at the redhead and saw her face starting to pale because of the blood loss, and her smile faltered.

Her gaze flitted towards the cut on the shorter woman’s arm, “It wasn’t so simple, though, was it?”

Romanoff gave her a weak shrug, “The guy had a knife on him.”

Maria raised an eyebrow in surprise: _when has that ever been a problem for you?_

The redhead stared at her for a while before sighing tiredly, “He’d taken hostages, Hill.”

And Maria instantly understood what had happened. The scuffle to wrangle the briefcase must’ve been a real struggle for Romanoff, considering that she’d had to be mindful of the commoners.

“What did you do with the hostages?” Maria asked, her eyes darting around, checking if they were any still around.

“Actually, _you_ helped me take care of them,” Romanoff answered, grinning at her, “Your comms have been on this whole time, and I heard what you told the civilians back at the casino.”

And despite her fatigue and pain, Romanoff smirked conspiratorially, “I think your employee code is going to be _severely_ misused tonight.”

And Maria just couldn’t stifle her chuckle.

“Come on, now,” she said, gently taking the redhead by her bleeding arm, “We’ve got to get that treated.”

They began walking, and Maria held the redhead’s injured hand between them, applying pressure on the arm and raising it a little in the air to slow down the blood loss.

Maria noticed the shorter woman swaying slightly with each step, and she draped her free hand around Romanoff’s waist, supporting her as they trudged towards the interior of the ship.

And Maria could’ve sworn that the redhead let out a contented sigh.

* * *

They’d just slipped into the ship’s sick bay when Romanoff suddenly gasped.

“ _Damn!_ I totally forgot to tell you,” the redhead said, her head whipping towards Maria, “I’d noticed it the second I’d walked into the casino.”

Maria closed the door behind them before turning to face the woman, her expression ashen, “What?”

 _What now,_ she wanted to growl. Because, really, she was already done with the night.

“I should have mentioned it way before,” Romanoff said, her good hand snaking up to Maria’s collar and fisting it, “That the vest looks absolutely great.”

And Maria scoffed breathlessly, her mind reeling at the Russian’s trick.

She wondered if it was the blood loss making the redhead ramble. But Romanoff’s tired orbs were sparkling just a bit as she looked up, and Maria knew that the minx was perfectly alert.

Maria tugged at her vest self-consciously, “It looked _grand,_ actually,” she replied, hoping she sounded at least a little bit cocky, “Before you bled all over it.”

She waited for Romanoff to grin back cheekily before leading her to the bed and making her sit down. The sick bay was empty, and Maria figured that the doctors were probably scampering all over the ship to assist the rest of the crew.

Gathering the supplies, Maria got to work, cleaning the blood off Romanoff’s arm. She motioned for the redhead to grip the headrest before getting started with the stitches. Maria quickly patched up the wound, spread some antiseptic cream over it, and then bandaged the redhead’s hand.

Maria looked up to see Romanoff’s face, checking her pallor, and then nudged her arm lightly, “Come on, we can’t stay here for long. We’ve left a messy blood trail leading right to this room.”

“Right,” the redhead said, “I think I might have seen one lifeboat left. We could take that and –”

“No,” Maria cut her off, “We’re not going to leave the ship.”

Romanoff knitted her eyebrows in question, and Maria explained, “The security office must have already informed the maritime police, because the ship has changed course to head back to the coast.”

Maria had realised it on their way down to the infirmary. She saw the understanding dawn upon the redhead as she nodded lightly.

“If we try to escape right now, it would obviously raise suspicions,” Maria clarified, “Plus, those guys are actively hunting for the documents _outside_ the ship. We’d be sitting ducks out in the open sea.”

_As counterintuitive as it may seem, staying on the ship might just be less dangerous._

The logic was rather dubious, but they didn’t have too many options. Not without any backup.

“Also, no one knows about S.H.I.E.L.D.’s involvement yet, so we can’t request HQ for an extraction,” Maria said, “So, I suggest we slip out once the ship has docked at the port.”

“Okay,” Romanoff said, her expression unsure, “But where do we go till then? There’s still a couple of hours to get back to the coast, and you just said that we can’t stay in here for too much time. And I doubt anywhere else on the ship is safe enough.”

“We wait in your room,” Maria replied, “I know it was a one-day reservation only, and you already checked out earlier this evening, but I’d extended your booking.”

“It was a backup, of some sort,” Maria explained rather sheepishly, “In case something happened, and the deal didn’t take place today.”

Romanoff’s eyes widened a little, like maybe she was impressed, and Maria flashed her a tiny grin before stepping away from the bed. The redhead hopped down a second later, and Maria watched her carefully as she wobbled a bit.

Romanoff steadied herself soon enough and they proceeded to walk out of the sick bay. Maria reached for the doorknob and just before she could twist it open, the redhead’s hand covered hers. Maria turned her head to look at the woman, and she found Romanoff smiling at her devilishly.

“Just so you know,” the redhead whispered, giving Maria an exaggerated once-over, “The vest _still_ looks grand.”

* * *

They made it till the aisle with the redhead’s cabin without much happening.

Maria reckoned that news about the gunfight must have spread across the ship and the civilians had cooped themselves up into their rooms to stay safe. And Maria was glad for not running into anyone; she doubted she could explain her black-but-still-obviously-bloodied vest and an injured redhead.

And just when she was going to marvel at their good fortune, a man turned into the corridor at the other end and started walking towards them.

Maria recognised the black suit from earlier, and she knew the guy _wasn’t_ a civilian.

Romanoff discreetly huddled closer to Maria’s side, hiding her bandaged hand behind Maria’s back. Their strides didn’t falter as they continued walking forward, but as the man came closer, Maria knew that even the redhead was praying that he wouldn’t recognise them.

They passed the man and had taken a couple of steps ahead when they hear the click of a gun behind them.

“Stop, you two,” the guy called out, his accent probably Latin American, “Turn around.”

Romanoff shot her a look before they obeyed. The man’s weapon wasn’t pointing at them just yet as he observed them. His gaze stayed on the redhead for a while before he raised his armed hand, the muzzle directed at Romanoff.

“You’re the chick who was with Iannucci,” the man stated, a menacing scowl on his face.

_Of course, he’s recognised us._

The guy was still a few feet away from them, and they couldn’t risk lunging for his gun; he’d fire before they’d even reach him. Maria moved her hand slowly, trying to reach for the Glock she’d tucked in the waistband of her pants, but the man caught the movement and shifted his weapon towards her.

_Fucking perfect._

Maria brought the gun forward nevertheless and raised her hands up in an _I’m-surrendering_ gesture.

Beside her, Romanoff’s eyes darted towards her for a millisecond: _what are you doing?_

Maria didn’t look at her and only blinked twice: _I might have an idea._

Maria lowered herself slowly, ignoring the ache in her wounded calf as she crouched on her knees. She placed the gun on the floor, pushing it just a little bit towards the man.

And then, Maria looked up – finally letting her gaze meet the redhead’s – and raised her eyebrows slightly: _on my count._

Maria didn’t know if she and Romanoff were even on the same page, but she placed her hands on the ground anyway, preparing herself for the _second_ countdown of the night.

_Hopefully not to our deaths._

Maria tapped a finger against the floor, the action soundless, thanks to the carpeted corridor.

_Three. Two. One._

And right on cue, Romanoff stepped onto Maria’s shoulder, just as Maria sprung up and dove sideward, away from the redhead.

The man fired, as expected, but Romanoff had angled herself such that the movement propelled _her_ sideways too – towards the wall on her other side – and the silenced bullet whizzed harmlessly in between them.

The redhead kicked herself off the wall, using the added momentum of the push to leap towards the guy, her speed insane. The man fired a few shots frenziedly, but he never saw it coming when Romanoff slammed her uninjured fist against the side of his head.

Maria quickly reached forward to kick the gun out of the guy’s hand, just as he fell to the floor, unconscious. And from the sickening crunch as he hit the ground, she figured he’d be out for a long time.

The entire thing had taken less than 2 seconds, and Maria could hardly believe they’d pulled it off.

They both turned to look at each other at the same time, their frantic eyes bearing the same question: _are you okay?_

It would have been a moment, under other circumstances, but Maria’s heart was beating way too fast to read much into it. She bent down to retrieve her own gun, the blood rushing in her ears.

Romanoff was heaving for breath, but she still smirked at Maria, “Damn, Hill, you and I are _vibing_ right now.”

 _“‘Vibing?’”_ Maria said, scoffing at the woman’s choice of words, “When did you turn into a teenager, Romanoff?”

“What I _meant_ ,” Romanoff said, a tired grin tugging at her lips, “Was that this was classic _us._ You plan, I execute.”

“ _Right_ ,” Maria huffed, taking the redhead’s arm, “Let’s get inside the room now, before anyone else sees us.”

The cabin was the last one along the aisle, and Romanoff squeezed her hand as they reached it, “I don’t have the –”

Maria produced the key card in her hand and the redhead fell quiet. She briskly unlocked the door and they staggered into the room. Maria leaned against the wall for a while, steadying her pulse as she watched Romanoff trudge further in and flop onto the bed, her eyes shutting almost instantly.

Maria took in the woman’s exhausted features and her ruined dress, and she sighed to herself.

_This is not going to work._

She walked up to the redhead and nudged her arm, “Why don’t you sleep for a while?”

Romanoff opened her eyes and she was about to protest, but Maria cut her off, “There’s still quite some time till we get back to the port,” she reasoned, “Get some rest if you can.”

The redhead tried to glare at her, but her eyelids were already drooping, and Maria knew it was a losing battle.

“Fine, but don’t…” Romanoff mumbled eventually, “Don’t be a creep and watch me sleep.”

The woman’s eyes fluttered close and she didn’t catch Maria chuckling. She shook her head a few times before bending forward to shift Romanoff’s feet onto the bed, pulling the blanket over her once she was done.

Maria waited for a few minutes, ensuring that the redhead was asleep, and then quietly slipped out of the room.

* * *

Maria took much longer than she preferred to get back to the room, and she sincerely hoped that Romanoff hadn’t woken up and left in search of her.

But the comms had stayed silent the whole time, so Maria figured that the redhead must still be asleep. She was just about to knock when the door was wrenched open, and Maria found herself staring at a rather distressed Romanoff.

The redhead opened her mouth – no doubt, to yell at Maria – and Maria promptly flashed her eyes in warning. Romanoff pursed her lips and her good hand reached forward to grab Maria’s collar. She yanked Maria into the room and closed the door before turning to face her.

Romanoff glowered at her, her gaze murderous, “Where the _hell_ were you?”

And despite the rage in the green orbs, Maria was thrown off by the desperation in the redhead’s voice. The concern in it was palpable, and Maria wondered if Romanoff knew it.

“I…” Maria struggled to meet the redhead’s intense eyes, “I went to get us some supplies.”

Maria’s brought up her hand and revealed the countless plastic bags held in it.

Romanoff studied them for a few seconds and then snatched the bag with the set of clothes Maria had gotten – _stolen –_ from the costume room of one of the lounges. The redhead didn’t even spare her a glance as she stalked off into the washroom.

Maria sighed as she shrugged off her own vest and shirt, changing into the turtleneck she’d snagged for herself. She waited for a good 3 minutes for Romanoff to come out before walking over to the washroom herself. The door wasn’t locked, and Maria knocked once before pushing it open.

Just as she’d predicted, she found Romanoff in jeans and her bra, her breathing laborious as she tried to wear the shirt.

Maria approached the redhead and wordlessly took her injured hand, carefully putting it through the sleeve. She did the same with Romanoff’s other arm – ignoring the woman’s death stare – and finally pulled the shirt over her head.

The shorter woman was panting because of her earlier flurry of actions, and Maria knew the blood loss – and their earlier stunt – had considerably waned her energy. She reached for one of the towels on the counter beside the basin and brought it to Romanoff’s face, wiping the sheen of sweat covering her forehead.

The redhead instantly shut her eyes, her features going slack and her body sagging, and Maria reflexively wrapped an arm around her waist, fearing that the woman was going to pass out. But Romanoff opened her eyes and looked up at her, her green orbs widening in surprise.

The shorter woman must have read the worry on Maria’s face, because her gaze softened and she gave her a weak – and yet, somehow _ethereal –_ smile. And Maria immediately retracted her hand and stepped back, the lack of distance between them suddenly unnerving her.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, clearing her throat, “I, uh… I couldn’t find a button-down shirt your size. And, uh, sorry about the –”

“Relax, Hill,” Romanoff cut her off, her grin widening just a little, “It’s fine.”

Maria nodded back sheepishly, and the two of them shuffled out of the washroom. Romanoff saw all the bags Maria had kept on the table and she raised an eyebrow in question.

“I got us some food,” Maria said, somewhat nervously, “I figured you’d be hungry after the long night. I hope you’re okay with Mexican.”

The redhead shot her a dazzling smile before walking up to the bags. She checked the contents and then wrinkled her nose in disgust.

“ _Prune juice,_ Hill?” Romanoff scoffed, “I knew I should’ve hunted down Barton and brought him along. He would’ve got me vodka.”

Maria knew it was meant to be a playful jab, and she didn’t even know why she felt a little hurt. She didn’t let it show, though, and shot the woman a smirk.

“It’s good for the blood loss, Romanoff,” Maria replied, her tone strict yet teasing, “Shut up and drink it. I can’t have you fainting right now.”

Romanoff took out the juice pack, poked the straw into it, and brought it to her lips, her gaze never leaving Maria’s face. The redhead then walked up to Maria and stopped just a step away, staring at her as she sipped the drink noisily.

Green orbs bore into her own, and Maria wondered what Romanoff was searching for in her eyes. The smug smile on the shorter woman’s lips – despite the damned straw between them – was a stark contrast to the warmth in her gaze, and Maria simply couldn’t look away.

“Are you implying that you won’t catch me if I did?” Romanoff whispered finally, “Because we both know that would be the biggest lie of the century.”

The woman turned around and walked back to the table, taking out the food from the bags, and Maria released the breath she’d been unconsciously holding. She followed Romanoff and they took their seats.

They attacked the food rather voraciously, and Maria realised just how famished she was herself. Neither of them spoke the whole time, their attention fixed solely on the food, and only once they were done did they look up.

“So,” Romanoff said eventually, “You obviously didn’t cook this meal yourself. Then what took you so long to get back to the room?”

“I’d gone to the surveillance room,” Maria answered, “To take care of all our footage from tonight.”

“The ship’s crew members haven’t checked it yet,” Maria said, exhaustion slipping into her voice, “They’re probably busy dealing with the aftermath of the chaos.”

Maria noted the redhead’s thoughtful expression and then continued, “The new software that the nerds at IT developed actually works, and I could mask our faces in all the video feeds. Incoming and pre-recorded.”

“From the real-time CCTV footage that I saw,” Maria went on, “The buyer’s gunmen and Iannucci’s folks seemed to have left the ship; all of them probably still searching for those documents.”

“I also went through the recordings of the casino, from earlier tonight,” Maria added with a sigh, “I wanted to see if I could identify the buyer, but the clips didn’t really help me with that.”

“That’s okay,” Romanoff said instantly, “Because I know who he is.”

“The guy did look a little familiar when he’d come into the casino,” the redhead explained, “But I couldn’t tell for sure back then, with my focus on Iannucci.”

“But _then,”_ Romanoff said, smiling a little, “We ran into Señor Sicario-in-a-Black-Suit outside our room, and I could finally connect the dots.”

“The buyer is Mario Alvarez,” the redhead said, “Head of – what was once – the largest drug cartel in Venezuela and Colombia.”

Romanoff paused for a while as Maria absorbed the new information.

_Huh. So, it really was a gang war._

“The guy’s been MIA for almost half a decade now,” the redhead said after a bit, “That’s probably why we didn’t identify him before.”

Romanoff let out a tired chuckle, “But he sure as hell made his grand comeback tonight.”

Maria shot her an impressed grin, “This is useful intel to send back to S.H.I.E.L.D.,” she said, “We should be able to have our eyes back on Alvarez, now that he’s exposed himself.”

“Yeah, and it should be quite easy,” Romanoff nodded, “Because I placed a tracker on him, back at the casino, just after the gunfight began.”

If she was being truthful, Maria wasn’t even all that surprised. She’d never expected any lesser from Romanoff. She didn’t know _how_ the woman had even done it, but it hardly mattered. The spy could – and _did –_ pull off the most impossible crap when it was needed.

Maria gave her a full-blown smile, not even trying to hide her appreciation as she beamed at the woman, “Good job, Romanoff.”

And for some unfathomable reason, the redhead ducked her head, almost as if she was _blushing,_ and Maria felt her breath catching at the sight.

They stayed in silence after that, both of them utterly drained after the adrenaline-charged day. They gazed out the window of the room, observing as the ship got closer to the coast of Monte Carlo.

And Maria fervently prayed for the rest of the night to pass without any more adventures.

* * *

For once, the universe seemed to have listened to Maria, and they managed to make it out of the ship without too much of a hassle.

Maria had to flash her employee card around at times, and Romanoff had to sneak them away from prying officers at others, but they’d extracted themselves from the mess.

And they were currently waiting at the reception of a rather seedy, hopefully-at-least-3-star hotel in the city.

And honestly, Maria couldn’t be bothered when the lady at the counter told them there was just one room left for them. Couldn’t be bothered when she and Romanoff got to the room – after climbing up the stairs to the goddamn _4 th storey – _and found a single queen-sized bed in it.

The redhead staggered over to the other side of the bed, and her legs gave away just when she got there. She all but fell onto it, her eyes closing the second her head touched the pillow, and Maria knew the woman was out cold. She hobbled towards Romanoff and took off her shoes before pulling the covers over her.

Maria then walked back to her side of the bed, removing her own boots before slumping onto the mattress herself. She was just awake enough to remember to take out the papers from her pocket – the damn documents for which they’d come here in the first place – and stash them away safely in the chest of drawers near the bed.

Maria gave the redhead asleep beside her one last glance before her eyes fluttered close and she sank into oblivion. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case y'all don't know/it wasn't clear:  
> A dice stick - is the thin, hockey-stick like stick with a hook at the end that is used by casino employees to move the dice and chips around on the craps table. 
> 
> Sicario - is Spanish for "hitman" or "hired killer", especially in the context of Latin American drug cartels.


	2. The Azure Coast

#### The Widow

The sound of their room’s door trying to be opened was what jolted Natasha awake the next morning.

She sat upright, her senses on full alert when she found the bed empty beside her, and her eyes darted around in search of something that could be used as a weapon.

Natasha grabbed the vase above the cabinet near the bed and hopped on to the floor, raising her arms, prepared to take on the intruder.

The door was pushed open a second later, and Natasha just barely managed to stop herself from bringing down the weapon as her eyes caught the sight of the wisps of familiar brown hair.

Hill’s forehead knitted together when she saw Natasha’s hands – still suspended in the air – and she instantly reached forward to lower them.

“Don’t move that arm around, Romanoff,” the brunette chided, tucking Natasha’s injured hand close to her side.

“Then don’t leave the room when I’m asleep,” Natasha snapped back, her voice gruff and breathless.

The woman had done that _twice_ by now, and the dread had been instantaneous on both occasions.

And it wasn’t because Natasha had woken up alone. It was not knowing where _Hill_ was – or if she was even safe – that had made Natasha’s mind go into overdrive.

Hill simply looked away before shuffling further inside and dumping the shopping bags in her hand onto the single table at the end of the room. And Natasha took the time to calm herself. She watched as the brunette peered into the bags for a bit and then tossed one of them onto the bed.

“You’ve made quite a habit of getting me these little gifts, Hill,” Natasha said, “I wonder if you also have a sleigh and a flying reindeer hidden somewhere.”

The jab was nowhere even close to her usual level of sassy, but Natasha still expected a retort. But Hill only chuckled briefly, the smile not quite reaching her eyes.

And Natasha studied the woman, finding her lack of response a little odd. Hill didn’t look like she’d stayed up the whole night, but she didn’t seem well rested either. And Natasha wondered if something was bothering the brunette.

It was outright terrifying how perceptive she’d become when it came to Hill, but Natasha couldn’t help her concern when she took in the woman’s strained features.

“You can shower first,” Hill said eventually, hobbling over to one of the chairs beside the table, “I’ll go once you’re done.”

Natasha had noticed the taller woman’s limp last night, but it was way more pronounced today. And she badly wanted to check the brunette’s leg to take a look at the wound. But then Hill rummaged through the bags once more, pulling out a newspaper and leafing through it, and Natasha knew the woman would brush her off.

She simply snagged the bag off the bed, browsed through its contents for a few seconds, and then strutted off to the washroom.

The underwear and bra were of the correct size, and Natasha spared them _both_ the embarrassment by not mentioning it.

* * *

Natasha was perched at the edge of the bed as she waited for Hill to be done with her shower.

She had noticed the stressed expression on the brunette’s face before she’d gone into the washroom. Hill hadn’t even met her gaze that morning, and Natasha could hardly bear it.

Natasha finally heard the water get turned off, and the brunette stepped out a minute later, drying her hair with the towel while she stood on the floor mat outside the washroom.

Hill was in jeans and a cotton t-shirt; the outfit hugging her lithe figure nicely, making her look casual and carefree. But Natasha knew that the brunette was anything but that; the turmoil in the blue eyes visible even as the woman kept her head bowed.

Natasha didn’t exactly know what to say to Hill, but she wanted the brunette to raise her head and look at her. Really – _properly_ – look at her.

Natasha willed her voice to stay even as she stood up and spoke, “Hey there, hot stuff.”

Hill glanced at her for just a second before averting her gaze. She turned and began walking, and she’d taken only one step when she suddenly stumbled forward and doubled over, her hand flying down to claw at her left thigh.

And Natasha instantly rushed towards the brunette when she saw her struggling to maintain her balance. She held Hill’s arm and tugged her towards the bed, making her sit before crouching down in front of her.

Natasha reached for the woman’s leg and began rolling the jeans up, but Hill bent forward and grabbed her wrist, “It’s just a scratch.”

The glare Natasha gave her must have been exceptionally deadly, because the brunette immediately retracted her hand and sat straight, her face angled away from Natasha’s.

The back of Hill’s jeans already had a growing blood patch – the stain visible up close, despite the dark colour of the material – and Natasha resumed the task, exposing the brunette’s leg up till her knee. She craned her neck to inspect the woman’s calf, and she cursed under her breath as she took in the wound.

 _This is_ not _a scratch._

By the looks of it, Natasha could make out that it was because of a bullet grazing Hill’s leg. But the wound had gotten a lot worse; the jagged skin around it all red and inflamed.

The brunette had been on her feet for most of the previous night – _and_ earlier this morning – and Natasha figured that all the physical exertion must have aggravated the injury even more. That, and probably the fabric of her pants constantly chafing against the already-torn skin.

Natasha looked up and scowled at Hill, her gaze drilling into the woman, willing her to face her.

“Were you ever going to get this treated?” Natasha bit out, “Or were you just going to keep punishing yourself for something that probably wasn’t even your fault?”

The question had been a wild guess, but the words found their mark, and Hill turned her head to look at Natasha. And the blizzard in the blue orbs nearly reached out and burned Natasha.

Hill scoffed back condescendingly, “I _do_ learn from the best.”

The brunette was looking at Natasha rather pointedly, her lips thinned into a firm line. Natasha felt her hackles rising at that and she nearly growled at the woman.

“Well, I _am_ going to patch it up now,” Natasha snarled, “So you can take whatever guilt you’re feeling and shove it up that hard ass of yours.”

She promptly stood up and stalked off to the table, her hands already reaching for the bags to search for the medical supplies she was sure Hill had brought.

Natasha’s eyes fell on the newspaper that was kept beside one of the bags – the report of the gunfight on the ship and the havoc it wreaked splashed all over the front page – and she could finally understand why the woman was so troubled.

“Is that what you do, Romanoff?” Hill’s voice came in a second later, “Just _shove_ your guilt away?”

And this time, Natasha _did_ growl.

Snatching the bag she needed with her good hand, Natasha whirled around and walked back to the brunette, her strides menacing and her gaze boring into Hill’s sitting form. She bent down just as she reached the woman, her injured arm reaching forward and grabbing Hill’s collar.

Natasha yanked at it violently, ignoring the pain in her hand as the stiches got pulled. But Hill simply raised her chin, her jaw squared and her eyes observing Natasha expectantly. Like she _wanted_ Natasha to attack her.

And Natasha suddenly got what this was.

“Cut the crap, Hill,” she muttered, “Because it’s not working.”

The brunette tried to look away, but Natasha held her gaze firmly, “You think you’ll piss me off enough and I’ll give you the verbal – or _physical –_ flogging you think you deserve.”

Natasha clenched the fabric of Hill’s shirt tighter in her hand and brought her face closer to the brunette’s, “ _But I won’t let you use me like that._ ”

The barb was followed by deafening silence for a while; the fire in their eyes warring against each other.

“But you’re hell-bent on making this about _me,_ ” Natasha said after a bit, “So, let me humour you.”

“My remorse is for the things I _have_ done,” Natasha whispered, willing her voice to not crack, “But yours is for what you _couldn’t_ do. There’s a goddamn difference.”

The brunette glowered at her for a few seconds before her hand came up and held Natasha’s, freeing her collar. Natasha realised only then, when Hill brought down her wounded arm gently, that it was trembling.

And the anger completely drained out of Natasha. She straightened herself and simply stared at the woman.

“Not _couldn’t,_ Romanoff _,”_ Hill said, her voice low and strained, “ _Didn’t.”_

“I didn’t see it coming,” the brunette began, “I should have, the second Iannucci himself walked in. There were so many red flags, when I think back now, but I just didn’t foresee the goddamn gang war.”

“There were _civilians_ on the ship _,_ Romanoff,” Hill went on, her eyes squeezing shut, “Civilians who didn’t ask to be caught in a gunfight. Civilians who could have _died._ ”

“But they didn’t,” Natasha instantly stopped her, making the woman open her eyes, “Everyone’s alive. Even the ones who got caught in the crosshairs have survived with minor injuries.”

Hill laughed mirthlessly, “Aren’t they lucky…”

“It wasn’t luck, Hill,” Natasha snapped, “It was us – _you –_ saving them, without giving a damn about your own life.”

There wasn’t a modicum of doubt in that statement.

But it somehow incensed Hill even more. The brunette gripped the top of the drawers beside her to haul herself up and took a few wobbly steps away from the bed, the frustration evident in her physique. And Natasha wanted to reach out to the woman, but she wasn’t sure she could soothe her.

“It’s never enough, though, is it?” Hill muttered, lowering her head in defeat.

“I come up with all these mission strategies, after all the research,” the lieutenant went on, balling her hands into fists, “But a single detail gets missed, and everything goes to hell. And I find myself back at the mercy of fate.”

“You didn’t _miss_ any detail,” Natasha reasoned, “It was a detail that didn’t _exist_ until now. You couldn’t have known that Alvarez had re-emerged, and that he was going to start a gang war.”

Natasha walked up to Hill, tilting her head to looked up at her, “There was no intel out there that could have informed us.”

And the brunette instantly flinched, as if the words had pierced her very soul.

“It’s an easy excuse, Romanoff; bad intel,” Hill whispered, shaking her head, “But it ruins everything. Reduces it to sand and dust.”

The taller woman’s tone was almost haunted, and Natasha wondered if this was about more than just their mission.

But it didn’t matter, either way.

Because Natasha was done with this. With Hill blaming herself.

“Strategies may not work every time, Hill,” she said, her voice soft but firm, “Sometimes, just instinct does the trick.”

_And your basic instinct is to save. To shield._

It was rather poetic, but Natasha was much too bothered by the brunette’s despondence to appreciate it. Hill’s jaw was clenched tightly, and Natasha’s hand was itching to soothe the bone that was twitching furiously.

“And in case you didn’t notice,” Natasha added, trampling the urge, “Your intuition was what helped us get out of there.”

_In so many ways._

The brunette looked at her, confusion etched across her features, and Natasha smiled back.

“If we would have listened to me and left the ship in one of those boats,” Natasha began, “Then we’d have probably still been on the run. Or dead.”

Natasha didn’t even try to hide the pride in her voice as she went on, “But you’d already thought of that and you had a solution ready.”

“And even after that,” Natasha continued, “You were cautious about every single thing, taking care of details that hadn’t even crossed my mind.”

The life slowly started returning to Hill’s face, and Natasha waited for her words to sink in. She wanted to hug the taller woman. To comfort her the way she had comforted Natasha in the past. But she didn’t. Because Hill needed to _see_. See the reverence that she’d rightfully earned in Natasha’s gaze.

She gave the lieutenant her warmest smile, “You, Agent Hill, have the best damn instincts out there.”

And Natasha let a few seconds pass before adding, “ _After_ me.”

Because she just had to.

Natasha winked at the taller woman, and, as if that single action was the password to her smile, Hill’s eyes crinkled at the edges and she laughed outright.

And Natasha felt a huge weight get lifted off her chest. She didn’t know why she’d been so affected by the brunette’s distress, but she couldn’t care less about that right now, as she saw Hill’s orbs _finally_ sparkle.

_Damn, I missed those sharp, blue eyes._

The lieutenant quirked up a brow, the fight in her back again, and smirked, “But didn’t you _just_ say that –”

“ _That,”_ Natasha cut her off, knowing exactly what the brunette was going to point out, “Was an _exception_. I blame the blood loss back then for not making me think straight.”

Hill merely scoffed, her expression indulgent. The woman’s features were back to being calm, and Natasha felt herself relaxing as well.

“Now,” Natasha said, taking the brunette’s arm, “Let me take care of that _shipwreck_ of a leg.”

She gave Hill exactly 3 seconds to chuckle at the pun before pulling her and making her sit on the bed. Natasha crouched before her once again and worked quickly, disinfecting the wound and bandaging the brunette’s leg. She rolled Hill’s jeans back down before gathering the supplies and standing up.

Natasha turned to walk to the table and deposit them on to it, but the brunette held her injured hand, her grip light. She looked back and found Hill observing her arm, her eyes examining the stitches. Natasha had removed the dressing before her shower, and she hadn’t bothered to cover the wound after that.

Hill scooted along the edge of the bed, away from the drawers on her right, and tugged at Natasha’s hand, making her sit down in the place she’d vacated. The brunette then took the medical supplies from Natasha and got to patching up the wound.

Hill’s attention was fixed on Natasha’s hand, her gaze lowered as she worked. Natasha’s eyes caught the nick on the brunette’s neck – probably another memento from the gunfight – and she shook her head, in awe of the ignorant woman.

_So oblivious of her own virtue._

“There’s stuff that you can’t stop from happening, Hill,” Natasha whispered, smiling a little even though the brunette couldn’t see it, “You can’t predict everything, so you’ve got to stop beating yourself up.”

Hill looked up just for a second, returning the grin, “Nope, I have you for that.”

The woman’s focus promptly went back to her task, and Natasha’s breath nearly caught at the words.

_You’ll always have me. Fighting by your side._

The intensity in the thought – sudden, and entirely involuntary – rattled Natasha to her very core. And she desperately needed to get rid of the tightness in her chest.

“And, besides,” Natasha said, her voice a little breathless, “There are several _other_ things you could regret not doing.”

Hill was just done taping up the bandage, and she kept the supplies aside before facing Natasha, an eyebrow raised in question, “Like?”

Natasha reached out with her good hand and fisted Hill’s collar once again, her grip gentle this time as she pulled her closer. Natasha’s knuckles lightly brushed against the tender skin on the brunette’s neck, beside the cut on it. But Hill didn’t even register it, her gaze glued to Natasha’s face, like she just couldn’t look away.

“Like spending a _full night_ with me,” Natasha whispered, the smile on her lips pure _sultry,_ “And not taking a single picture of _the_ Black Widow in her bed hair.”

There had been so many ways to finish that sentence; each more sinful than the other. But she simply hadn’t been able to stop herself from making the cheeky detour.

Then again, it wasn’t so hard to understand. Because Natasha didn’t want to _seduce_ Hill. She wanted to win her over. Win her validation. Her loyalty. Her _respect_.

But the brunette had one of those endearing _I-don’t-want-to-but-I-can’t-help-it_ smiles on her lips, and Natasha knew that she _already_ had.

“I’d never risk having that kind of incriminating evidence, Romanoff,” Hill replied, her tone solemn but her eyes shimmering with mirth, “I want to live to tell the story of how the Widow snores like a truck driver in her sleep.”

A treacherous grin almost broke out on Natasha’s face, but she curbed it, narrowing her eyes at the woman in faux threat. And Hill instantly raised her hands in the air, initiating the cease-fire.

“Moreover,” the brunette said, still smiling, “I need to _have_ something that can take a picture. And I lost our only phone in the chaos yesterday.”

“I’d meant to buy a burner when I went out this morning,” Hill went on, “But I wanted to get back to the hotel in time, so I thought of just getting it later.”

“You also didn’t get us any breakfast,” Natasha replied, grinning impishly, “What? Couldn’t find any place that sold prune juice?”

“No, I…” the brunette said, ducking her head, “I didn’t know what you liked.”

And the sight was just too cute for Natasha to even try denying it.

“I like _you–”_ Natasha began, watching as Hill’s gaze flew to her face, “– _ropean_ food _._ ”

She gave the woman a wicked simper, “I like _European_ food, Hill.”

Hill swallowed forcefully, and Natasha savoured the lieutenant’s flustered expression.

But the brunette soon gathered herself, “‘ _European’_ isn’t a specific answer, Romanoff.”

“Too bad then,” Natasha replied, shrugging blithely, “You’ll just have to surprise me.”

Hill looked at her for a few seconds and then suddenly started leaning forward. And Natasha instantly froze; unable to guess what had spurred the move. The brunette kept coming closer, stopping only when their lips were just an inch apart, and Natasha prayed her fluttery heartbeat wasn’t audible.

Hill’s sapphires were razor-sharp as their gazes locked, and yet, the warmth in them blew Natasha away. She was drowning in the blue orbs – completely and carelessly – but she felt like she was flying.

And just when she was sure the brunette was going to kiss her, Natasha heard the sound of drawers getting closed behind her.

And she instantly realised the lieutenant’s trick.

Hill brought the documents she’d kept in there forward and waved them in front of Natasha’s face, a wolfish smirk on her lips. She pulled back a second later, and Natasha barely managed to smother her breathless cough.

The brunette’s smile turned mellow almost immediately, “I believe I’ve surprised you enough.”

_Touché, Hill._

“Come on, now,” Hill said, standing up, “We should leave.”

Natasha followed her movement, getting up and grinning at the taller woman. Hill smiled back as she kept the papers on the bed and then shuffled over to washroom. She returned a minute later with her hair combed and pulled back into a ponytail, and then walked over to the shopping bags. The brunette rummaged through them for a while, and Natasha took the time to set her own appearance.

“We also need to get into contact with HQ,” Hill said, turning around once she’d found what she wanted, “Although, I’m sure news of the pandemonium must’ve already reached Fury.”

Natasha nodded at the lieutenant and watched as Hill proceeded to wear the jacket she was holding in her hand. The brunette came back to the bed and took the documents, tucking them into the pocket on the inside of her jacket before zipping it up, and Natasha sighed to herself.

_All this trouble, just for some goddamn papers._

But then, she thought back to the events of op and just how much she’d been – she _was –_ enjoying herself with Hill, _despite_ the hiccup, and Natasha couldn’t help her smile.

Because it was _so_ worth it.

* * *

“Damn, Hill. I didn’t know you were such a scrooge.”

The pout that accompanied Natasha’s words was _not_ _at all_ Black Widow-y.

They were standing near a rather make-shift fast-food stall, and Natasha almost wanted to whine. They were in _Monte Carlo,_ for crying out loud. And instead of enjoying the city’s posh, expensive restaurants, they were going to have to –

“Look clearly, Romanoff,” Hill said beside her, “ _That’s_ where we’re eating.”

Natasha followed the direction of the woman’s finger and she finally saw it. Further down the road, there was a cute bistro; not nearly as swanky as the ones the city was known for, but elegant enough for Natasha’s liking.

Hill had a triumphant grin on her lips, but Natasha only returned a haughty smirk, desperately hoping that her face wasn’t giving away the fact that she was _thoroughly_ pleased.

The tango of their gazes would have escalated, but they both were far too hungry to bother with it. And within the next minute, they found themselves seated inside the restaurant, their eyes already searching for a waiter. A rather lanky Frenchman came up to their table and they launched their orders before the guy even greeted them.

“Wait,” Natasha called out to the waiter just as he turned to leave, “I forgot to add the most important thing.”

She noticed Hill’s incredulous – and straight-up suspicious – gaze in the corner of her eyes, and she paused for a few seconds before continuing.

 _“I’ll also have a coffee,”_ Natasha said, in French this time, _“With some extra shots of your finest whiskey. From Ireland.”_

She raised her eyebrows meaningfully at the waiter, and he promptly bobbed his head in understanding.

“Make that two,” Hill said, and Natasha looked at her, rather surprised, “ _And no whiskey. In either of them._ ”

The lieutenant’s French wasn’t as fluent as her own, but Natasha couldn’t help being impressed. She waited for the man to leave them before glancing back at Hill, a playful quip ready at the tip of her tongue.

“I know what you’re going to say,” the brunette said, cutting Natasha off before she even began, “But Barton’s not here with you right now to give in to your whims, so you just have to deal with it.”

Hill’s smile was genuine, but her eyes flickered for just a second, the same way they had, last night. And Natasha wondered if her teasing wasn’t as harmless as she’d thought it was. She didn’t know why it perturbed her so much, but she just had to clear the brunette’s misunderstanding.

“Yeah, missions are a lot easier with Barton,” Natasha began, “He’s not a straight-laced hard-ass.”

Hill instantly shook her head and huffed out a chuckle, but it sounded just a tad self-deprecating. She looked back at Natasha after a few seconds, and Natasha gave her a soft smile.

“With you, though, I’m a lot more –” _at peace,_ Natasha wanted to say, “– _careful.”_

_Because I know it matters to you._

“And yet,” Natasha breathed, ducking her head, her fingers absently reaching for the complementary fruit bowl on their table, “ _It’s so much fun._ ”

She plucked off a grape as she looked up at Hill and threw it at her. The brunette caught it reflexively, and Natasha’s grin widened impossibly.

She couldn’t quite read the expression on Hill’s face; she looked like she wasn’t sure if she’d heard Natasha right. And that look of disbelief was as adorable as it was abject.

The brunette flashed her a shaky smile eventually, and Natasha sighed, “But you worry too much, Hill…”

_And I wish you could be as relaxed in my company as I am in yours._

Natasha had altogether given up trying to figure out why she felt so calm around Hill, even though a single look from the woman could light her skin on fire.

“I’m _infinitely_ less worried when you’re with me on ops, Romanoff,” Hill replied, almost as if she’d read Natasha’s thoughts.

“You make things work, somehow,” the brunette said simply, “Without getting fazed by all that’s going up in flames.”

“You were wrong about what you said on the ship,” Hill added, her smile warm, “It doesn’t matter what the plan is, so long as you’re the one executing it.”

It was the second time Hill had praised her – _openly_ praised her – and Natasha could hardly control the way her heart fluttered with joy.

She grinned back breathlessly, “I don’t follow shitty plans, Hill.”

It was a rather twisted compliment to return, but the brunette took it, nodding almost coyly.

Hill popped the grape she’d caught earlier into her mouth, smiling to herself as she chewed. She leaned back against her chair and crossed her arms lightly against her chest. And Natasha mirrored her movement, drinking in the rare sight of the laid-back lieutenant.

Their food arrived soon enough, and they shot each other a quick grin before digging into it. Natasha kept glancing at the brunette as they ate in silence, and something that Hill had just said came back to her, making her shake her head fondly.

_I might be wrong at times. But not about you._

* * *

Natasha swept her gaze across the length of the alley and then looked back at Hill, giving her a nod.

The taller woman returned it before whipping out the burner phone from her pocket – they’d bought it on the way to the diner – and dialled in a number, putting the device on speaker.

“Agents, how nice of you to finally call,” Fury’s voice came in after about 4 rings, “I thought you’d be far too busy painting the _town,_ now that you’re done with the seas.”

And they both flinched at the taunt.

“We, uh… I didn’t imagine that things would escalate like that, Sir,” the lieutenant stuttered in a very un-Hill-like way, “And we couldn’t –”

Natasha held the brunette’s arm, her grip light, and raised her eyebrows: _may I?_

Hill sighed and nodded in response, and Natasha flashed her a reassuring smile before taking over.

“The buyer turned out to be Mario Alvarez, Sir,” Natasha began, “And apart from those documents, he also wanted _Iannucci_ dead.”

The Director stayed quiet for a bit, processing the information, “So, Iannucci had come there, in person,” he noted, “That certainly explains a lot.”

“And Alvarez?” Fury added, “You’re saying he’s back in the game?”

“Yeah,” Natasha replied, “The whole deal was essentially a part of some kind of a mafia-powerplay.”

“Right,” the Director said, “So, our basic assumption of this being a simple sale of information was wrong. No wonder you couldn’t manage to –”

“We secured the documents, Sir,” Natasha cut him off, making Fury fall quiet.

“And they can’t be traced back to S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Natasha added, her voice and expression proud, “Agent Hill made sure of that.”

The taller woman’s lips curved up in a small, grateful smile, and Natasha felt warmth settle deep within her.

The Director stayed silent for a while, but Natasha knew he was impressed. She could almost picture him standing by his desk, stubbornly restraining his smile, despite the gleam in his visible eye.

“Well, that _was_ the mission,” Fury said eventually, “I didn’t expect any more than you completing it.”

And Natasha nearly laughed at the backhanded appreciation.

The Director let out a (fond) sigh at the other end, “Moreover, the latter was pretty obvious, considering that you didn’t call for backup.”

“What about Alvarez?” Fury said after a bit, “He got away, didn’t he?”

“Actually, Sir,” Hill spoke this time, “Romanoff placed a tracker on him, just after the fight broke out. We should be able to know his location.”

“Ah,” Fury said, the sound of rapid typing audible over the call, “So, _that’s_ the dot that’s been blinking since yesterday.”

“Checking the satellite images…” the Director hummed, “Okay, yeah. It is Alvarez.”

“Our man is currently in Austria,” Fury informed, “He seems to be stationed there for a while; the dot hasn’t moved since late last night.”

The lieutenant sighed, “He must have flown to his new base, just as I’d thought.”

“Sir, I think Alvarez is planning to expand his business to Europe,” Hill said, “We might need another mission to subdue him. And to find out his sudden source of capital.”

“Right,” Fury agreed, “Barton would be suitable for the op. I’ll tell him to cut his honeymoon short; he’s been on leave for more than a week now…”

Natasha instantly glanced towards the brunette, both their eyes wide with surprise as they took in the new detail.

_So, that’s where Barton’s been all this while._

The Director was still speaking, and their focus promptly returned, “… we should send 3 other agents with –”

“Actually, Sir,” Hill interrupted him, “I don’t think we need to call Barton back just yet.”

“We already have a few agents undercover in Salzburg and Vienna,” the brunette went on, “We could tell them to keep an eye on Alvarez until we mobilise a team and outline the strategy…?”

Fury considered the idea, and for a while, no one spoke. Natasha looked over to the taller woman, her expression curious.

She cocked up an eyebrow: _why the soft spot for Barton?_

Hill merely shrugged in response, but the softness in her eyes spoke volumes: _he deserves some quality time with his wife._

And Natasha could understand the thought. Clint was one of the few people at S.H.I.E.L.D. who had a life outside of their work. And being an agent meant that every second you got to spend with your family was precious.

Natasha almost scoffed at the word. _Family._ She hardly knew what it meant to have one. And she wondered if she’d ever get the chance to find out.

Then again, Natasha _did_ have a family, in some sense. In all those that looked out for her, in their own, quirky ways; Clint, Laura, Fury… and Hill. She could have that feeling of being at ease – and perhaps, even safe – around them. And maybe, that was enough.

“Okay, then,” the Director’s voice ended her musing, “I’ll get the agents briefed.”

“What about you guys?” Fury said almost immediately, “You need a ride back home, right?”

“No,” Natasha blurted out before she even realised it.

Hill’s head instantly whipped towards her and she knitted her forehead in question. And Natasha swallowed discreetly, knowing that she couldn’t take it back now.

“I’ve never been to Monaco, Sir,” Natasha spoke into the phone, but her eyes were fixed on the brunette, “And I’ve heard it’s a beautiful country.”

Natasha kept gazing at the taller woman, wondering if Hill would find the hidden invitation in her words. The brunette’s features relaxed soon enough, a delicate smile taking over her face, and Natasha waited in anticipation.

“We’ll take a commercial flight back to New York… tonight?” Hill said, raising her eyebrows for confirmation, and Natasha nodded back eagerly, “Tonight.”

And Natasha nearly squealed with delight.

“Fine,” Fury replied, “But just a quick tip: the nearest airports might not be the safest options for you.”

“That’s okay,” Natasha piped up, “We’ll drive along the French Riviera, away from here, and take the flight from Marseille, maybe.”

“Okay, but I should let you know,” the Director added, “You’ll be sponsoring your little road trip yourselves. Whatever’s left in that S.H.I.E.L.D.-issued debit card you’ve been swiping around is all the funding you’re going to get from us.”

Natasha could almost hear the smirk in Fury’s voice. He _loved_ challenging them. Loved stacking up all the odds against them, and then watching them succeed, nevertheless.

“That’s fine, Sir,” Hill said, smiling at Natasha, “I think we’ll be able to manage.”

“Okay then,” the Director replied, “See you back at the Helicarrier.”

And there was a slight lilt in his voice, like maybe he wanted to follow that up with a _good-job._ And just when Natasha thought he actually would, Fury blew out a huff of a laugh at the other end.

“Have fun, Agents.”

The Director ended the call without even waiting for their reply.

And Natasha couldn’t make out if that was supposed to be an order.

* * *

_She’s perfect._

Everything about her was gorgeous. Her colour, her shape… Natasha only had to imagine what she _felt_ like, under her touch.

But the Chevrolet Corvette – a vintage, _convertible_ model – stood out of her reach. Literally and figuratively.

They were at a car rental place, and the parking lot with all the vehicles was visible through the main office’s window. And Natasha found herself staring wistfully at the Corvette; all glorious and majestic and woefully unaffordable.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” the man at the counter spoke.

Beside Natasha, Hill laughed breathlessly, “She really is.”

Natasha turned to look at her, and she saw the brunette gazing out of the window, just like she’d been. But the infinitesimal smile still lingering on the taller woman’s lips made Natasha wonder if her reply wasn’t about the Corvette.

Hill soon shifted to address the guy, “We’ll take it.”

And Natasha somehow stopped her jaw from dropping. She waited for the man to leave for retrieving the keys before turning fully to face the brunette.

“If we go for that car, we’d barely have any money left for the flight tickets,” Natasha pointed out, “And, we still have the rest of the day ahead of us to account for.”

“I’m aware, Romanoff,” Hill said coolly, “But, like I told Fury: we’ll manage.”

The taller woman had her _I’ve-got-an-idea_ smirk on her lips, and just like that, Natasha didn’t need any more details.

“There’s another issue we haven’t solved yet,” Hill said after a bit, “How exactly are we supposed to fly without a passport? We’d arrived in a Quinjet, so it wasn’t a problem back then. But that isn’t the case right now.”

“I’ve got that covered,” Natasha replied, “There’s a guy here, in Monte Carlo, who owes me a favour.”

The brunette raised an eyebrow in question, “I thought you hadn’t been to Monaco…?”

“I haven’t,” Natasha said instantly, “I’d run into him on a mission in Corsica.”

“I’d pulled him out of a tight spot,” Natasha added, “In every sense; including the literal one. And he’d told me to drop by if I was ever in town.”

She shrugged, and then wiggled her eyebrows devilishly, like that was supposed to justify everything. And Hill simply shook her head at her antics.

Their salesman arrived soon with the keys and the paperwork. Hill signed the documents briskly and made the payment, not even faltering when the guy charged them extra for having the company drive the car back.

From the corner of her eye, Natasha saw Hill’s hands almost reach out for the keys, and she had to stifle her smile at the brunette’s excitement.

“Go on,” Natasha said, looking towards the keys, “You can have them.”

Hill waited for a bit, eyeing her sceptically. Like she didn’t know if this was some kind of a trick.

“You know the drill, Hill,” Natasha said, rolling her eyes, “You drive the car, I drive _you_ crazy.”

And the taller woman laughed so unabashedly, Natasha just couldn’t help but join her.

She didn’t know when she and Hill had grown so comfortable as to _candidly_ joke around like this. They weren’t close, but they weren’t exactly far. And there was something keep them that way, frozen in that distance.

Like fire in the hearth.

The crackling coal – hot and smouldering – not allowing them to get nearer, but the warmth of the flames cosy enough to not let them drift apart either.

_Yeah, that’s the word. Cosy._

It was as intriguing as it was infuriating.

Hill snagged the keys off the table and they made their way to the car. The brunette barely contained her glee as they approached the Corvette, and Natasha couldn’t decipher the way her heart skipped a beat at the sight.

Hill revved up the engine once they’d got in, and the Corvette purred back obediently. The brunette grinned wickedly as she gripped the steering wheel and drove out on to the road. Natasha keyed in the address to their guy into the GPS before leaning back against her seat.

“I’ll take care of the passports, Hill,” she said, looking towards the woman, “But _you_ better arrange for some cash.”

The lieutenant’s gaze was fixed on the road, but Natasha still smirked at her, “Because my car is way too fancy to stop beside any restaurant that has less than 5 stars.”

Hill chuckled at that and turned her head fully, risking a long glance. And Natasha could see the glimmer in the brunette’s eyes; the glimmer that often reassured her more than the woman’s words.

The lieutenant gave her a lopsided-but-still-cute-as-hell grin, “And we _won’t.”_

* * *

“So, this was your great idea, Hill?”

“Of course. And I think you mean _brilliant_ idea.”

Natasha all but scoffed at Hill’s arrogance. (Well-deserved arrogance).

Because they were in the Corvette, waiting to enter the driveway of Casino de Monte-Carlo. _The_ Casino de Monte-Carlo.

They’d taken a long detour before coming here, meeting with Natasha’s acquaintance and whipping up their fake passports and paperwork. Driving along the beautiful Mediterranean coastline, they’d let themselves soak in the French sun before getting here. It was about early evening, and Natasha doubted the casino would be too crowded. And, lucky for them, their wardrobe was just chic enough to be suited to the extravagant interior.

Moreover, it would be a shame if they left Monaco without visiting the Monte-Carlo Casino. The regal structure looked all the more magnificent, with the rays of the twilight sun bouncing off its contours. And it took everything Natasha had to not gape as she took in the splendid building.

“You told me to arrange for cash, Romanoff,” Hill said, grinning full-on, “I believe a few rounds of Blackjack might to the job.”

“Always a fool proof strategy, isn’t it?” Natasha teased.

“You say you don’t follow shitty plans,” the taller woman replied smoothly, “And yet, here you are.”

Natasha raised her chin defiantly, returning the brunette’s smirk, “Here I am, indeed.”

Hill flashed her a crooked smile as she veered the Corvette into the driveway. She tossed the keys over to the valet as they hopped out of their seats. The brunette checked the documents – still tucked safely in her jacket pocket – before they walked into the main atrium, all smart and snazzy.

They reached the front desk, and Hill quickly rattled off the instructions to the concierge. And the guy promptly handed them their tray of casino chips. The pile was rather large – they were essentially going to play with almost all the money they had left – but Hill didn’t seem apprehensive. And neither did _Natasha_.

She’d seen the lieutenant’s game last night. And Natasha didn’t doubt her skills. Her instincts. Unlike their banter, Natasha was sure that Hill wouldn’t lose here. Or, perhaps _like_ their banter, the brunette wouldn’t let _Natasha_ lose.

Natasha was taken aback by the sheer extent of the trust she’d unconsciously placed in Hill. And the realisation – of just how much she’d let down her walls – was as harrowing as it was humbling.

Right then, Hill turned to look at her, "Shall we?"

And suddenly, it didn’t matter whether they’d win or lose. Because Natasha could see similar faith in the lieutenant’s gaze. As if _she_ was sure that they’d still find a way, even if this plan didn’t work. 

And Natasha could only stare into those deep, blue eyes; the orbs piercing and gentle at the same time. Hill looked at her as if she could see right into her soul, and Natasha found herself hopelessly captivated.

She didn’t know if she was starting to lose _herself_ to the brunette. Didn’t know what would happen if – or _when –_ she did. Didn’t know if she wanted it to be a _when._

The uncertainty in her heart was undeniable, but Natasha still smiled back at the taller woman, "Sure."

It was a gamble she was willing to take.

_Fin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: The French Riviera is known as the Côte d'Azur in French, which literally translates to Azure Coast.


End file.
